Greatness
by Adrian Tullberg
Summary: ...some have greatness thrust upon them ...
1. Chapter 1

Greatness

By Adrian Tullberg

Superman looked for the Joker.

Then again, the bright spotlights stabbing into the sky at the top of Gotham's highest skyscraper might have been signs that the Clown Prince of Crime wasn't being subtle.

No traps, no technology, just a lead-lined box in his hand that looked like the switch to the bomb he'd stated he'd set off on his latest Twitter post.

Spotting the Joker from orbit to knocking him down, the switch now in his hand, not even moving a fraction of a millimetre (mercury switches were common enough)

The Joker laid on his back, blood streaming from his nose, muffled giggling from his split lips.

Superman carefully prised open the box (away from himself in case a chunk of Kryptonite was inside) to find ... nothing.

"Too late Supes."

Superman dragged up the Joker to his face level. "What did you do."

"Oh me? Nothing. Nothing. Well, nothing much. I swear I haven't hurt anyone. Lately."

"Talk."

The jaundiced eyes leered back at him.

"If you really wanna know? Just look down. Around. Any part of Gotham."

Superman, keeping a close grip on Joker, scanned the streets, the people, the infrastructure.

"Cold."

The technology, the superstructure, the material structure of every building.

"Warmer."

The people, the lungs ...

"Getting hotter."

Their blood, their DNA.

"Red hot! Real hot!"

"Oh God."

"Please. Just Joker. Or Genius. Unappreciated artiste. Champion of the true nature of ..."

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!"

"Not. In. My. Ear! I'm right up close to you!"

Superman let the Joker go, the man straightening his clothes and brushing his hair back into position with exaggerated movements.

"... I was gonna tell you anyway."

Joker waved his hand into the air. "That little government black ops operation that wanted to commit an act of genocide by killing every last surviving Kryptonian? They had a massive R and D budget, and wanted to create human soldiers who had a chance in hell in fighting Kryptonians hand to hand. So ... they got their hands on Kryptonian blood, skin, bodies, during the times there was a punch up here on Earth ... had more success with that when they tried to clone you because they had more to work with. Basically, they discovered how to rewrite Kryptonian over human DNA."

Superman tried to cover up his horror. Not very well.

"Turned out the General in charge had a thing about turning humans into ... the enemy and shelved the project. And you should know I'm all about the chemistry ... biological warfare, weapons of mass _fun_ ... in short, I founds it. I loads the combined genetic package onto a viral vector and spread it via aerosol throughout the entire city while you, the only person who could locate a microscopic organism and shut it down, were looking for me, a _person_."

Superman scanned the city. The changes were beginning, genetics overwritten, new, superior organs growing and subsuming the originals, all with solar powered superspeed.

"And considering you've been looking at the _city_ instead of me, _listening_ instead of _looking_ at me ..."

A purple fist connected with Superman's chin with more power than it should ever possess, staggering the Kryptonian.

"... you'd have noticed I'd infected myself twenty minutes ago."

A tall, lanky figure knocked the Man of Steel down, grappling, pinning him. Superman began to realise how a man who spent literally decades training himself for battle would have trouble against this madman.

"Normally, I'd keep you alive, see how much fun it would be too see you fight against several million super-people, but to be honest? While Batman was perfect for me ..."

Superman tried to stop the arm wedged around his neck.

"... I'm afraid to say I'm just not seeing the chemistry between us."

An unhumanly fast, experienced squeeze and twist.

"... and you should know I'm all about the chemistry."

The Joker kicked the red-and-blue body off the side of the tower. Or rather, he meant to, instead seeing the corpse propelled into the distance.

Oh well, plenty of time to see how strong he was.

The Joker looked at his whole new city ... and world, to play with.


	2. Chapter 2

Senator Elton carved another piece of his beef tenderloin. He'd just concluded a very profitable bit of business, and felt he could celebrate by enjoying his meal before getting back to the office and starting on the tedious business of re-election.

His savouring the meal was interrupted by a figure sitting down in the chair at the same table. Damn it, he was supposed to be important enough in this town to have his own private table, lunchtime crush or not.

This figure was short, rotund, sported a monocle, and was holding an umbrella.

"Just who ..."

"I'm very pleased to meet you, Senator ..." the man raised a hand. "Oswald Cobblepot. From Gotham."

Numbly, the Senator took the proffered hand. The name of the city would have made Elton wary enough. However, in the last few days, a military experiment gone haywire had given everyone in Gotham powers on the same level as Superman...

The Maître D' had appeared behind the Gothamite, intent on throwing the interloper of the very powerful patron out. "Excuse me ..."

"About time." Cobblepot took the menu from the man's arm, scanning the items. "The Branzino Del Mediterraneo Al Rosmarino E Verdure with a bottle of the ' 09 Maculan Sauvignon."

Elton nodded to the Maître D', who disappeared.

Then the Senator remembered the name. One of the criminals who plagued Gotham ... the Penguin. Mob connected.

"How can I ..."

"No, Senator. How can I help _you_. You are still head of the committee in charge of commissioning civilian subcontractors to the U.S. Military?"

"Ah ... yes ..."

"Then this is your lucky day." The Penguin handed a small business card.

" ... Icestorm PMC...? You're representing a Private Military Company?"

Cobblepot smiled. It wasn't pleasant. "Sole owner and proprietor of a security company comprised solely of Gothamite residents."

Elton thought he was going to be blackmailed or threatened ... not made an offer.

While he was adjusting, Cobblepot was making his spiel. "Right now, the President is reducing American forces in Iraq, increasing the need for private contractors, correct?"

"Yes, there is going to be ..."

"Then we are going to be very good friends, Senator."

"But I ..."

"Let's be frank. Yes, I come from Gotham, and might have made a few youthful mistakes that may have made me more notorious than usual, without the toy sales percentage to compensate. However, right now, I am the only licensed and legal operator of a security company which solely employs Superman level superhuman operatives."

The senator had overheard the rumours going around, how a few hundred thousand supermen were bad enough, now there were several million, all with the protection of being American citizens. "...how many operatives?"

"Sixty-seven. Since this morning."

"This morning?"

"Right now, my people are engaging in a massive recruitment drive. Finding the family with the impossible mortgage payments. The divorcees with crippling alimony debts. The students with multiple maxed out credit cards. The cops who have to moonlight as mall security guards simply to make ends meet. People with military backgrounds who'd love to legally earn more in a week then they'd do in half a year." Cobblepot leaned forward. "I know that the FBI, and every other law enforcement and intelligence agency, once they realise what they're dealing with, will start making similar offers. But my people have started first ... and we have the home advantage."

Elton turned over the card in his hand. Superman had been notoriously difficult to negotiate with, from what he'd heard. Any official who asked him to intervene in a little backwater in order to get business back on track, had a very good chance of having any ... suspect dealing aired all over the press. Usually via telling that rabid dog Lois Lane, who would spearhead a hunt for that elected officials hide, who ignored the typical reporter's need for making and maintaining connections, instead possessing an unnatural desire for scalps, the more high profile the better.

Now he was being offered a chance to control multiple people of the same power who might accept that in order to keep the world as it is, you have to do business with not very nice people.

"Sixty-seven?"

The Penguin consulted an iPhone. "One hundred and twenty-four. So far. Once word gets out ..."

"How much?"

"To be able to contract Superman-level people?"

"How do we know ..."

The Maître D' arrived with the bottle, Cobblepot raising his glass to be filled without looking. "My dear Senator, while some people my city has been grossly labelled with might enjoy artistic chaos ..." He smiled with pointed teeth. "... I'm strictly about the Benjamins."

The Senator raised his glass. "To business."

"To business."


End file.
